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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24338185">Midnight channel – Lilith’s playroom</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/othersin/pseuds/othersin'>othersin</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman &amp; Terry Pratchett</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Demon Aziraphale (Good Omens), Demon Crowley (Good Omens), F/F, Gore, I'm Going to Hell, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Ineffable Wives | Female Aziraphale/Female Crowley (Good Omens), Lilim | Children of Lilith, Lust, M/M, Multi, Murder, Murder Wives, Religious Guilt, Religious Imagery &amp; Symbolism, Sex Demons, Succubus, first wife of adam, incubus, second ring of hell, they are both demons</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 07:07:16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,530</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24338185</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/othersin/pseuds/othersin</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Francis had a tiring day in maintaining the garden, keen to curl up with a good book in front of the fire and spend the weekend on just on himself. However, with the edging into the witching hour the simple gardener was distracted by the tv switching on suddenly, an adult only delight on channel 666…</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Aziraphale &amp; Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Nanny Ashtoreth/Brother Francis (Good Omens)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>16</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Midnight channel – Lilith’s playroom</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <hr/><p>The dumpling like man in a dirty smock and straw had that entered the warm threshold of his simple but warm cottage that sat at the edge of the large Dowling Estate gardens and the vast forest of trees that acted as a border between the estate and reality. Like the Estate it was one of those picturesque English village stone cottages, unlike the main building it still had its ivy-covered stone facade and the thatch roof.</p><p>He shoved with his shoulder gently to open the oak door as his soil crusted hands still were holding his trusty shovel, hoe and smock , the stone below his feet caught most of the mud clumps as he placed the tools on the awaiting hooks as well as his floppy hat – once done, he steadied himself to pull off his mud covered boots in the small mud room or hallway away from making a mess in the house itself.</p><p>His thick grey socks were still dry even with the full day out in the rain drenched garden which was more than what the man could say about his baggy jeans and sleeves of the jumper he wore under the smock, a hole had his big toe poke out however with the sudden chill he experienced at the small amount of skin showing made him slip his tartan slippers that were by the umbrella holder – the same place he left them as he drunk his morning tea and read the newspaper that was always dated for a week before.</p><p>Day in and day out, the same routine the gardener fell into – former brother of the cross, Francis Fell was content with his lot in life, god given simple pleasures, working amongst the nature he loved and admired. Walking into the cozy but comfortable house with all his prized books and bits and bobs he had collected in his lifetime – a stove that heated the hut and water had left the room still warm from the time it burned in the morning for his steamy shower and whistling kettle.</p><p>Francis deadlocked the door behind him and kicked the door snake that was shaped as a long, tartan sausage dog with plastic eyes that rattled at the sudden movement, pink felt tongue popped out in a comically or cartoon expression. A country fete he attended had some lovely homemade craft wares, seasonal jams and spicy chutneys – which reminded the portly fellow that he still had some of the chutney and cheese, a sup of toasted cheese with chutney sounded divine when he thought about it some more.</p><p>But Francis knew the simple comfort of melted cheese and perhaps a cup of earl grey would have to wait, the state of his face and nails would simply not do. With one last longing look to his kitchenette and plush armchair in fount of the heater and the darkened screen of the TV, he then moved to the bathroom to off from the room.</p><p>When he got the position at the Dowling Estate, to look after the grounds for the busy American ambassador and his young family, the old TV came with the hut (so did most of the furniture, sans the mattress, his employers were kind enough to replace it for the new groundskeeper) but it more so acted as though another shelf or resting place for his books. It was still thankfully to the groundskeepers taste, but with his previous quite frugal life part of the church it was a luxury he was not going to complain about – but it seemed the previous groundskeeper had preferred the silver screen with the mix of VHS and DVD's that had been left behind.</p><p>Going through the abandoned VHS and DVD’s had some similar titles but he didn’t feel the need to watch them with his own quite extensive collection of books. It’s not that he hated the TV as a medium, but the darkened screen and the reflections within the curved glass had caused unease somewhat, the older television sets just had an unsettling aura about them. Francis did not see the appeal of children and others watching the screen like mindless drones – the electronic buzz or hum from the outlet it was connected to not dissimilar to that of a live wasp or bee hive he had been sometimes run afoul of in the spring and summertime.</p><p>Francis entered the bathroom, looking as though it had not been updated since the 1950’s with the small hexagon tile on the floor, the pale pink vanity and toilet – a green and pink affair that had served its purpose well in keeping the usually grubby man clean.</p><p>The medicine cupboard above the small sink had a tarnished mirror but clear view to the living room and the black glint of the tv screen, but the pudgy man had not lingered onto the screen as he stripped in preparation of a relaxing shower – the shower-head a little taller than the man himself. His pudgy build, a little too much weight hung on his belly and pectorals, wirily blondish white hair curled on his barrel chest. He looked at his large nose, sun aged skin, bushy mud chops at the side of his head, his large ears sticking out like a sore thumb now without his hat obscuring them, his teeth a little bucktoothed and crooked giving him a unique smile.</p><p>He turned away before the lingering self-conscious thoughts began to invade in regarding to his appearance – turning away from the mirror and opening the frosted glass door lined with chrome edging and turning the squeaky taps till the hot water rattled though the old plumbing. Stepping in the heavenly spray to soothe his arching muscles and to clear away the dirt and the lingering smell of fertiliser that clung to him like an earthy cologne.</p><p>He let his mind wander briefly, the rainy day made It difficult to work with but the weather also created another problem – the governess of young Warlock had gotten caught in the rain and so the day had also included the awkward small talk with a member of staff that lived in the Estates main house, the woman and young warlock looked like a couple of drowned rats under the pergola in the gardens . The woman was quite pretty though had a sharpness that made Francis believe she was quite stern, though with the sudden soaking from the heavens; her blouse had been completely soaked though. The former man of the cloth had caught himself from staring at the white lacy bra the other wore, turning away ashamed before the younger woman caught him leering.</p><p>She cast him a sidelong look, the gardener not being as discreet as he thought he was with the look of disdain as the woman hurriedly covered herself with the towel that Francis had provided to help. The burn of shame filled the older man but something insidious leaked into those thoughts as well, the woman’s milky white skin and the chill making the girls pert nipples peek through the lace – a heady thought of how lovely his filthy hands would look grasping and staining the pristine white blouse, how strong he would be compared to the slighter built woman if he pinned her against the fence of the pergola with tea roses and wisteria winding around the lattice, pushing her hard against the side of the building to cause the peeling white paint to fall down on them.</p><p>Imagining such events caused such a heat in his loins, his cock that lay soft against his heavy balls began to stiffen and wake up at the thought of lacy undergarments and peach soft skin, smooth and supple like buttermilk – pale pink lips mouthing and pressing desperate kisses or breathless cries, a mouth perfect for breathy cries, pleading for the gardener to  stop. But he wouldn’t, because he knew that deep down, the woman craved this – she wanted it.</p><p>Francis turned sharply away when young master Warlock had quite loudly requested to run around and play in the mud, the governess sharply declined, grabbing the boy roughly and leaving the gardener quickly – the discomfort in her expression was evident. Francis still felt some guilt and panic at how dark his mind wandered, a vice he had thought he learnt to control with his younger years in the church, he sought forgiveness in the house of god due to an incident in his youth – perhaps she could sense those thoughts, the miasma that caused a bad scent in the air.</p><p>Francis sighed, the tiredness and the bitter taste of guilt brought down his mood down further – even under the streaming shower. Bowing his head and placing his hands against the wall of the shower, he was half expecting the governess to run to Harriet Dowling and probably be called into Thaddeus’s office regarding the incident – the insidious thoughts continued, he was a red-blooded male after all, biology and all that. If the governess didn’t want to catch the gaze of men, she should dress more appropriately for her position – she should be flattered by the attention in any case.</p><p>Francis shook himself from those thoughts but is still did not abate the need building in his heavy loins, the pinkish flesh of his cock was engorged and erect – Francis gazed at the traitorous flesh between his thighs, the size was average and not impressive, had the governess had fancied him surely such a sight would make the woman laugh.</p><p>Why did she have to be a brunette, why did she have to remind him of Lucy Queen. The girl he knew and loved when he was just a younger man – he had not thought of her in many years, putting it behind him ever since he dedicated himself to the church and then the garden.</p><p>Young and innocent, yellow summer dress flashing peach soft thighs while she swung on the tire swing -  legs still smooth and her white panties teasing.</p><p>The bile and unjust anger filled his gut again, making him clench his fist against the slippery tiles as his over hand shook as took himself in his hand in hurried tugs and harsh rubs – not eager to savor the sensation, but eager to have it end.</p><p>Francis wrapped himself in the long tartan dressing gown as he finally emerged from the bathroom, the masturbation that normally offered further relaxation for the night did not do anything to change the dark mood he fell into – perhaps he would just take his tea and cozy up to one of his many books in his collection and call it a night. His plans were further distracted by the sound of the TV on, some of the late night dribble was on, the type of shows that had breathy moans and women against silky sheets with the flashing number to call if you wanted to call one of the lovely ladies on display – he stared confused for a moment, not recalling turning on the TV at all when he entered the hut.</p><p>Francis was in no mood for it, he quickly moved to the TV and unplugged it roughly from the wall, the sudden electronic buzz and the pinprick of light collapsed on itself like an imploding star returning the TV to its once lifeless state. Francis stared at the screen, eyes watching it carefully before taking one of his copies of books on top of the flat wooden box that held the old tv but not before jumping a little at the loud chime of the grandfather clock, the on edge gardener turned to the clock as it loudly chimed 12 times.</p><p>Francis shook his head at how silly it was to be spooked by the clock, returning to grab a book he had recently picked up – a story written by the Russian author Vladimir Nabokov, Lolita. He had gotten half way though the book and was keen to finish it, he decided to instead bothering with the cup of tea just to attempt to wind down with the book and call it a night.</p><p>The hut itself was a one room situation with bathroom being separate, so the heating cost wouldn’t be so high – hard to imagine that such a hut would have been used for the groundskeeper, his wife and perhaps children as well in the past but it fit the bachelor lifestyle of Francis, a believed pious man who was used to the small spaces. The bed was against the wall, covered in the blankets and woven gifts that came from a mix of church fetes and family gifts inherited by his dear departed mother. The armchair in front of the low burning heater was in the same taste, with the added lace dollies on the armrests and head rest – the pillowy and much loved chair had a large blanket flopped over the armrest, he sat down, pulling the blanket over his lap and begin where he left off previously in the novel.</p><p>The electronic buzz of the TV turning on made him look slowly, the brief image of white noise and static – similar to that of a snow storm or a blustery wind storm, the channel flickered into view with the channel appearing at the corner. Channel 66 was usually home to awful infomercials, the type that tried to convince you most certainly needed two sets of those weird dry skin removal devices that had the most disturbing similarities to a cheese grater and those hosts looked like they were stuck in the strange hellish TV land that hasn’t changed from the 1980’s with smiles that looked pained – however the static glitched the number, duplicating one of the channel numbers.</p><p>Channel 666. And the glowing watermark of the show at the corner in hard to read cursive, ‘Lilith’s Playroom’ a curvaceous illustration in a playboy costume with bat wings and a long winding devil tail completed the logo – it looked to be a neon sign for a bar or strip club.</p><p>The call girl ad flickered back into view, the low sounds of female pleasure was like out of those of a bad porno that had been filmed in a basement studio – Francis stared at the TV and to the plug that he had thought he pulled out, only to see the cable back in its place.</p><p>He lay the book on his lap, considering if he was mistaken from before or perhaps it was a prank but none of the other staff would be bothered enough to play such games – surely there was logical explanation.</p><p>However the gardener was having trouble trying to think of it logically when the show in its pinks and crimsons focused on a beautiful woman on all fours, posing lewdly in  black and red lace underthings and garters with red bottom stilettos on the floor – pale skin that had not been kissed by the sun it seemed, milky white and porcelain like; unsettling in its pristine visage. Her limbs formed perfectly, a lean woman that was more angles than curves but the dip down to her panty line and the softness that remained on her bottom and breasts, a tattoo of a red bellied serpent was inked, wrapped around her thigh, the peach of her displayed arse and under the thin straps of her impractical underwear the head resting at the base of her spine – fanged maw open to receive the ruby red apple with bright yellow serpentine eyes glinting.</p><p>Her sharp features and painted crimson lips stretched into a serpentine smile almost matched her inhuman eyes – like the inked serpent that slithered up her arched back to devour the juicy fruits from above, her hair was fire engine red and curled In a pin-up girl style that fell past her shoulders in lovely curls.</p><p><em>“Welcome to the midnight channel, a luscious display for all of the naughty little sinners out there who are way past their bedtime…”</em> a seductive and alluring voice narrated the strange show, it was not the lovely woman who smiled seductively to the camera man and the would-be audience.</p><p>
  <em>“A night of pleasure for the repressed little hungry devil inside, now with a one-off payment for fulfillment of your most depraved desires…”</em>
</p><p>Francis stared a little transfixed at the crawling figure whose grin continued to widen, her burning gaze seemed to stare at the poor gardeners wretched soul. She got right up close to the screen, raising her lacquered red talons reaching to the screen and reached though the screen in a electronic hum as the realities shifted, the screen rippled and dripped down the stretching out arm like the poisonous mercury – pulling away from the emerging form  as the man stared in horror and a mix of amazement as she continued to climb out of the tv, contorting her body easily like a serpent would as she pulled herself free from the tv realm and in to the reality of the simple gardener.</p><p><em>“Your immortal soul...”</em> the breathy sigh of the narrator of the channel finished as though the very words caused carnal pleasure. The woman stood to her full height, the shoes added to her height and intimidating visage – the sheer power and confidence that the strange unearthly creature that stood in his drab cottage, the red light from the TV bathed the room in the hellish light.</p><p>“Hello Francis…you are certainly a difficult man to locate.” Her tone carried a hiss and had quite a heavy Scottish accent, “But low and behold, I caught your filthy scent and now here we are…” Her nose scrunched up as she looked around with a thin arched brow, blinking at the many books in recognition.</p><p>“Oh, you certainly have a collection…is this?” The woman stared reached to grab one of the oldest books he had in his possession, eyes blazing in something warm and kindly for the brief moment, “She would love this one…”</p><p>“Who…who are you?” Francis muttered, staring at the television and back at the woman that literally climbed out of – maybe he fell asleep in the chair and this is some lucid dream, the lingering scent of cloves, aniseed and sulfur was a new addition to the hut however.</p><p>She gently placed the book back ignoring him for the meantime, sultry smirk making the man’s hair stand on end at the sharp look – the gaze pinning him down like a beetle in a frame.</p><p>“I don’t believe I gave you permission speak, worm.” She hissed, forked tongue flicking – a serpent scenting a plump vole or rat to devour.</p><p>“W-worm?”</p><p>“Day in day out, eating dirt and shit – you are more worm than man.” Her serpent gaze dropped to the book that lay in his lap, scoffing at the sight of the title. She sat herself on the TV box, the apple of her arse sitting lovely with her long legs crossed</p><p>“You seem to be type of man who gets off at being insulted, but perhaps I’m a little too old for you?”</p><p>“…” Francis wished to deny that the insults or the cruel tone of the other didn’t sate a need he had suppressed, shifting uncomfortably at how the arousal stirred again – a lucid dream, this is what this whole thing was.</p><p>“Like that spunky governess, a little spitfire that one.” She pushed herself off the box of the TV and continued to step ever closer, “Or the Miss Lucy Queen, poor girl, but that’s what set you on the path of god in the beginning.”</p><p>“Lucy?” Francis whispered the name of his past, a festering sore of regret, guilt and anger.</p><p>“We’ve had our gaze on you since that time, did you really think the house of god would protect you forever for that indiscretion you did?” The woman purred, the man attempted to stand up to leave but the woman pressed a hand on his chest and pinning him down with inhuman strength, “And the house of god would’ve…but that is not fair for Miss Lucy, is it?”</p><p>“I was young…”</p><p>“She was younger.” The redhead continued, sarcasm dripping in her tone, “Boys would be boys, am I right?”</p><p>“…”</p><p>“The pious dogs of church were awful kind to you, able to clear up the whole misunderstanding…nice to have friends in high places, eh?” Her lips quirked, painted ruby and wet looking.</p><p>“What do you want from me…?” Francis muttered, the woman climbed on his lap – sitting on him in such a way that his erect member that was still covered by the blanket was pressing against the blanket in a  flimsy barrier against her tantalizing skin and infernal lace , her body temperature was burning hot against him as if she had hellfire just under her skin. Just below the surface, waiting to burn away his sinful wanting flesh and he would let her – leaning close to him and whispering, forked tongue flicking as she did</p><p>“I want your body and mind as that is what you stole from Lucy all those years ago, and you will let me.” She continued, nail lengthening to that of a talon as she imitated a lover’s touch, “As a succubus, we are to punish those who partake in the sin of lust – and your name was next on our collection list.” She bopped him on the tip of his nose, just before digging her talons into his face with glee.</p>
<hr/><p>The red head opened the door, a large bag with something bloody and very human shaped being dragged behind her – outfit had shifted into something a bit more than lingerie.</p><p>“Welcome home, Crowley” A sweet voice called from a room that is best described as a homely kitchen, a curvy if not a little plump woman in a comfortable if not a little dated nightgown compared with the other demons tight leather pants and leather jacket, her platinum blonde hair fell in long loose curls – Crowley felt a little irritated as it meant the other had brushed her hair without waiting for the other succubus to offer her services as the other did every night. The others blue eyes held an infernal cold light to compliment the others heat, her soft kissable lips delectably held a spoon as it seemed she had been interrupted by midnight cake eating – as the other usually did when she got back from hell. The other placed the plate on the bench, a fleck of coffee cream being wiped from the corner of her mouth – pink tongue catching the cloying sweetness with the hint of bitterness of coffee.</p><p>“Aziraphale…why didn’t you wait?” Crowley whined, “You know brushing your hair is like the best thing to come home to.” she dropped the bag on the kitchen floor with a wet sound – the other succubus made a displeased noise and nose wrinkled as though she smelt something foul. Forgetting herself, rushing over to embrace the blonde – to surround herself once again in her peach soft skin, only to be stopped by a gentle push.</p><p>“Darling, you reek.”</p><p>“Sorry babe, I’ll have a bath before bed.”</p><p>“No matter – so this is the husk?” Aziraphale gestured to the bag of human gore that was once Francis Fell, a horrid human that had lusted after young girl, grooming her – acting as a family friend only to prey on that trust. Not only that, he had gone to the church to seek forgiveness for his immoral crime, only to fall back into the hideous lustful desires soon after.</p><p>Aziraphale did not take kindly to humans who are granted forgiveness for such crimes, some souls are beyond redemption when they harm a innocent.</p><p>“This piece of shits soul is probably down in the second ring right now – being continuously torn to shreds in the storm, but I kept the body to put in the larder.” Crowley gave the bag a sharp kick.</p><p>“Jolly good, I’ll break down the body further tomorrow.” Aziraphale said, knowing full well her bone saw and cleaver had been sharpened the day or so before – eager to be painted with rubies again.</p><p>“Y’know, he was going to go to hell eventually – Do you have an idea why Lilith demanded an advancement of his soul?”</p><p>“Just because I’m her PA you think she tells me what she is thinking?’ Aziraphale hummed, “She picked the souls of the wicked of ones she simply disliked, she sent advancements to all of the field agents in the second ring.” Aziraphale sighed a little tired, “She’s running me right off my feet…I may be going back into the field to assist  with the amount of work…well, at least the TV's have gotten larger though the years – I would loathe to get stuck ” she rubbed her hip, as if recalling a time where she did get stuck – it took  Crowley almost a century to stop bringing up the embarrassing incident</p><p>“Wow, field agent Aziraphale – been how many since you were promoted?” Crowley purred, crowding the other.</p><p>“It’s been over 3000.” Aziraphale muttered, “The promotion system in hell is a little easier to come to terms with – though it seems bit like a pyramid scheme.”</p><p>“Must be nice to be able to seat on the same table as the dukes and princes of hell, very gluttonous and hedonistic of you, my swan.” Crowley continued, eyeing a long strand of hair – reaching out and tucking the stand behind the others ear</p><p>“It’s great you don’t have to deal with the basic stuff anymore, I do miss seeing you between jobs though and the times we tag teamed… your stint as the hatchet wielding bride was quite memorable.”</p><p>“And you, my tempting homewrecker.” Aziraphale complimented the other.</p><p>“Fuck, you were so pretty in red and white.” Crowley hissed</p><p>“Shame my many husbands couldn’t admire that combination…” Aziraphale sighed, she still kept those gowns – the favourite part of those type of jobs was the good fun it was for her to act like a beloved wife to be.</p><p>“How in the world could they succumb to a demon of adultery when they had a fallen angel in their grasp?” Crowley said aghast, the mere idea of someone turning their gaze from the fallen angel in all her tempting glory was unspeakable to the other succubus.</p><p>“My dear, you could seduce a mortal to drink poison gladly – you are the only other that I would accept a mortal to be swayed to.” Aziraphale leaned closer, as though she was going to kiss the other – Crowley leaned forward to press a kiss that didn’t land.</p><p>“You still need to have a bath before all that, come, I’ll run it for you.” The slighter shorter demon tugged the other, not before the clothes the other wore unraveled revealing her bare skin, Aziraphale’s own nightgown had undid at the seams and fell in a demonic miracle. Crowley allowed herself to be pulled along, her love-struck expression showing freely in their home.</p><p>“I take it you would be joining me?”</p><p>“Thought it would be obvious, have to make sure you don’t miss anywhere...”</p>
<hr/><p>tbc?</p><p> </p><p>well, if you liked please leave a comment and kudos.</p><p> </p>
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